


a nice place

by pumpkin130



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: Fix-It, Multi, allie swears like a sailor, and they're all just fucking kids, but its gonna take a hot fucking second, everyone pulls their heads out of their asses and is happy, slow-burn on crack, the girl is going through a lot oKAY, they're all so fucking stupid, this is a bellarke situation if I have ever seen one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-05-13 09:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19248505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkin130/pseuds/pumpkin130
Summary: What he does say: "It seems like a nice place."The statement is too short. Fleeting; just long enough for Allie to catch a glimpse of the old Harry. Confident, self-assured, happy (she tries not to think about what she used to be like). She wishes she could hold onto it - hold onto him - make him okay and whole again.What she does say: "Yeah," giving him a small smile and trying to shove every ounce of emotion that she can into that single word.She just wants everyone to be whole again. She wants to be whole again- she thinks she's forgotten what it feels like.What he doesn't say: "I'm so sorry."What she doesn't say: "I know."But then he leaves, and she leaves, and then it all goes to shit.





	1. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot be the only one that was royally pissed about the way the season ended (I mean yes it made for great television but god at what cost) and I needed some way to release my emotion about Harry and Allie because their dynamic is so interesting and they both deserve to be happy???????? but yeah then this happened

     They locked eyes before Clark unceremoniously shoved her into the back of the car. Harry’s eyes were glazed over, and he wouldn’t look at her - amazing what happens when you know you have royally fucked up.  
     Grizz was there, looking as though he had been punched in the gut while he stared at Luke as if he had never seen him before. She let herself think - for a moment- “At least he wasn't here. At least he found land. At least everyone else would be okay.” She could pretend like something good had come out of the scenario: Grizz is okay (she tried to shove away the _for now_  that was dancing quietly at the back of her mind).  
     She turned back to look at Harry, trying to shove all of her emotions into one stare; an effort to convey how she was feeling and maybe, _hopefully_ , make him realize he had made a mistake.  
God, he had pretty much had her sister killed, the least he could do was offer her a little bit of slack when it came to the goddamn job assignments.  
     She tried to ignore the small pit of betrayal that was forming in her stomach. She didn't know why but had thought - rather stupidly, looking back on it - that he had changed, after their talk in the cafe. He had seemed different. Better. As he had left, she almost felt something like hope beginning to grow inside of her (a decidedly naive thought).  
     “Maybe…” she remembered smiling after he had left, allowing herself to remember the way he had looked at her all those months ago, hairnet on his head, like she had hung the moon and the stars and everything in between and held all of the answers in her eyes.  
     “Maybe this could be something. Something good”  
     But no. That was definitely not the case.

     

* * *

  
     The guard had thrown her into the makeshift cell in Luke’s basement about three hours ago, then arguing about whether they needed to have someone keeping an eye on her all night or not. Clark said something about her knowing how the lock worked, before Jason had cuffed his head and snapped “everyone knows how to work a _fucking_ lock it doesn’t matter because she doesn't have the _fucking_ key.” The stress was evident in his voice. If she closed her eyes and drowned them out just enough it was faded words in the background, she could almost pretend they were standing in the hallway at school while they argued about what they were going to do that night.  
     She stared at the ceiling and listened to them argue, knowing if she looked over Luke would be staring at her with large, frightened eyes, as if trying to understand how they had gotten themselves into this situation.  
     It figured he would still be looking to her for answers.  
     Helena had finally come downstairs and freed them from the decision, agreeing to keep an eye on Allie for the night. She had fixed her with the same sad look Luke had, and it had hit Allie how 

* * *

  
     The problem, Allie decided, with being locked in the wine cellar in Luke’s basement (aside from the fact that he was a fucking traitor and a liar and it was taking everything in her being to not just start chugging because fuck his dad’s wine collection, fuck his dad, fuck him, fuck the guard, fuck this entire fucking town they had promised to protect her _they had promised_ \---) was that it gave her so much fucking time to think she had run out of things to distract herself with.  
     She could not, _would not_  let herself think about what she had done before. What she would change. Who she would have trusted. It wasn't worth it.  
     She also couldn't let herself think about before the entire mess had even fucking started. Which is challenging, because from where she was sitting, there were about three things that she could consider “before”.

     Before all their parents disappeared.  
     Or, as she used to ask Will, were they the ones that disappeared? For all anyone knew their parents were still alive and were all on their way to save their lost children ( _please please please please_ ).  
     She had gotten in the habit of calling her mom every night. Hoping, praying, begging that she would answer the phone and it would all be okay.

     Before she shot Dewey.  
     Weirdly enough for Allie, this was the least consequential of the three. Mostly because it was a direct effect of her other two life-altering moments she had had in the last year.  
     ((((She didn't want to think about the implications of the fact that her shooting someone was considered to be inconsequential. Not yet.))))

     Before Cassandra died (and the town died with her).  
     This was the biggest before. Because, honestly, when Cassandra was alive (still alive, Allie, fuck, you will not allow her memory to die—) she had so much hope it almost makes her sick to think about. She believed so strongly that they would be okay. Because her sister (not me never me why the fuck did I let them talk me into taking this fucking job—) was going to keep everyone safe and alive and they were all going to be okay.  
     Why the fuck did Cassandra have to die. Allie (still) meant what she had screamed in that church— they needed her.  
     Even more than that, she needed her.  
     And then thinking about Cassandra made her think about how easy (comparatively) everything had been before she had died.  
     Which then led Allie back to the root of her problems, the cause of the dark hole in her stomach that was threatening to swallow her if she allowed herself to dwell on it for too long: Harry.

     She tried to think about happy things instead. She wondered absentmindedly if Becca had her baby.  
     What she didn't let herself think: “I don't even know if she had a boy or a girl.”  
     What she also didn’t let herself think: “I probably won’t ever get to meet them”  
     She thought about the land that Grizz had found  
     What she didn't let herself think: “The land will be useless if Lexie doesn't make them farm it,”  
     What she also didn't let herself think: “They’re all going to starve if they don’t farm it”  
     “I wonder if they'll let me starve,” she thought aloud to herself, pushing off the floor and beginning to pace around the room in an effort to warm herself up.  
     “I don't think they'll shoot me. They could barely shoot Dewey and they didn't even know him. They know me. Or maybe they'll hang me. That seems easy. Less bloody than shooting. Easier to make public, if they're trying to make an example out of me. But maybe they will starve me. I could see those idiots thinking it was the most humane of all the options. And Campbell      wouldn’t mind seeing me beg for food.”  
     She started counting her steps as she continued to pace in short, slow lines; back and forth, from one side to the other.  
     “Eight across, eight back”  
     “Eight across, eight back”  
     “Eight across, eight back”  
     “Eight across-, ooooo“ she paused, moving her feet in a circle before bringing her toes together, planting her feet firmly on the ground (absentmindedly remembering when Cassandra had taught her the trick to use when she was giving a presentation and needed to collect her thoughts). She smirked.  
     “Seven across”  
     She glanced around the make-shift cell, then grabbed one of the bottles (what she hoped to be the rarest and most expensive) and began trying to work the cork off.  
     “I guess this is my fucking life now”

 

* * *

  
She had never wanted to take that fucking job.


	2. The Things that Haunt You

     Harry’s memories were different when he was high. They were always softer, faded around the edges. He was never able to see entire faces, just remember the feeling of the moment, catch a fleeting glimpse of one specific feature. 

     He could always count on his father’s hands appearing, throwing a baseball across their long yard; his mother’s long, smooth neck, pearls sitting daintily on her collarbone; Kelly’s smile. Sometimes, he would hear the faint ring of his sisters laugh.

He much preferred his memories when he was high to when he was sober.

     High Harry couldn’t see his father’s stern look when he missed the ball; the short, pinched lines that formed around his mother’s mouth; Kelly’s back turning to him, cutting off the smile; remember that his sister probably hadn’t laughed in a long, long time.

     When Harry was high he didn’t see Cassandra. He was free from her taunting; a stark white angel appearing against a blood red background, wailing in his ear asking why he had her killed. He was not forced to listen to her quiet sobs and whimpers as she bled out on the sidewalk outside of prom again and again and  _ again _ . She was always alone. It was always his fault. 

     What he did see (unlike what he did not) was not something that Harry was quick to allow himself to dwell on: Allie, her bright blue eyes staring up at him, a laugh dancing in her irises. A small smile playing on her lips, like they shared a secret unknown to the rest of the heavens. He would remember how soft her hair had been that night, how he sat and rubbed it in between his fingers, feeling like he was touching gold. There had been something so quiet,  _ still _ , about his room after it had happened, listening to the rainfall on the roof and Allie’s soft breathing next to him. 

     His world hadn’t been still like that in a long, long time. 

     So Harry got high. Mostly to forget, but a little bit to remember, too.

 

* * *

 

The night after Allie was arrested, Harry swallowed two pills and fell into bed.

The dreams that greeted him was not what he was expecting. 

Not what he had planned on.

The angel had fallen. Cassandra’s screams trumpeted in his ears. Short. Punctured. Warped by death and pain and death and failure and death and betrayal and  _ death.  _

“Harry! Why Harry! Why me, Harry! Answer me, Harry!”

She was growing. Towering over him. Arms reaching out, out, out, out. Hands encircling his neck. Squeezing tighter, tighter, tighter when-----

“Harry-”

“Shit-”

“What the fuck man-”

“Dude!” His felt his bed jolt backward, banging into the wall. “You gotta wake the fuck up Harry, there’s a problem with Allie.”

Harry’s eyes burst open, and he panted as he stared at his ceiling, the faint feeling of Cassandra’s fingers still pushing into his neck.

“Dude.” It was Luke who spoke first, his knuckles long gone white, the uncertainty clear behind his eyes. “Are you like… okay?”

“Yeah bro, you were shouting pretty fucking loud” Jason added, lowering the hand that had been resting on Clark’s chest, as if holding him back. 

All three looked as if they had seen a ghost. 

Harry definitely had. He reached over to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle that was resting soundly next to him; in reach at all times.

His throat was dry. His head hurt. He was addicted to drugs. He was trapped in an alternate universe. There were random fucking people living in his house. He had staged a goddamn coup and, as all evidence would tell, had gotten someone killed. He was about as far away from fine as one person could get. 

But still- “Yeah, I’m cool. Let’s just fucking go.” 

The three turned and left, lingering in the hallway, mumbling with their heads drawn together. He saw Luke’s shoulders sag.

Turning away from them, Harry caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. 

Large, dark bruises sat below his eyes. His clothes sagged on him, his hair long and limp atop his head. 

“If only my mom could see me now...  She’d have a fucking fit.”

He took another pill.

 

* * *

 

“He kept screaming Her name. Cassandra.”

“I know Clark.”

“That’s fucking messed up.”

“Yeah, I know Clark.”

“Do you really think he’s okay Luke? He sure as hell didn’t sound okay. I mean, I know what fucking high rambling sounds like, and it sure as hell doesn’t sound like that. Shit, when you’re high all you fucking do is talk about Helena and football.”   
“I don’t fucking  _ know _ , Jason. I have literally as much knowledge as you do.”

“Yeah, but you’re like… The Guy.”

“Yeah.”

“See, Clark thinks so too.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘I’m like, The Guy,’ Jason. What the actual fuck is ‘The Guy’.”

“You know man, ‘The Guy’. The one that fixes everything.”

“Yeah, yeah. Like, like, uh, like… Like Bruce Willis in Die Hard.”

“Yeah, like Bruce Willis in Die Hard. You’re the fucking guy”

“I really fucking love that movie. Like, way more than I ever loved Gwen. Bro, do you think anyone like… owns it?”

“Probably man, it’s a really great fucking movie.”

“We should watch the  _ fuck  _ outta Die Hard.”

“Fuck yes, bro. As soon as we get done with… today.”

….

….   
….

….

“I miss Grizz.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

….

“He was The Guy, guys”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

… 

“Fuck.”

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! To everyone that commented- thank you so much! This is my first fanfic ever and words literally cannot describe the feeling that a positive review gives me. Fun fact about me: the gaurd had my favorite relationship on the show and it hurts my heart the way they ended so... redemption arc? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?


	3. What's Up, Drunkie?

It happened like this: There was a smell. They were transported to a magical parallel universe. They played a game of fugitive, and she slept with Harry. Her sister died. She became the leader. Someone poisoned the pie. Some other things happened, but she was a little fuzzy on the details. 

And now, Allie Pressman was trapped in the quarterback's wine cellar, piss drunk and unable to stop laughing.

(To be completely honest, the giggles had turned to sobs quite a while ago.)

She was spinning in a circle, kicking the bottles she had already drank in an impression of kick the can (a game which Allie had never understood, what exactly were you supposed to do? was it like soccer, with a goal to be scored, or did you just run around literally kicking a can?) while she used another as a makeshift microphone.

Helena was, to put it lightly, not impressed.

“I’M HOT! YOU’RE COLD”

“Allie, I really“

“YOU GO AROUND-“

“Allie, seriously, this isn’t a joke”

“LIKE YOU KNOW WHO I AM”

“Allie, you need to lower”

“BUT YOU DON’T - cmon Helena this is the big finish- YOU REALLY GOT ME ON MY TOES”

She turned to face the back wall, preparing to spin and look over her shoulder like her, Cassandra and Sam used to when performing some sort of dance routine for their parents. Cassandra had always called it “playing to the audience”. Campbell never joined them.

“Allie, the guard is on their way. I think they’re bringing Harry. It would probably be in your best interest to not be screaming Jonas Brothers lyrics when they got here.”

Allie spun, the force of the movement knocking her off balance and to one side. Helena - beautiful, perfect, well-spoken Helena, why the _fuck_ didn’t they put her in charge? She was more like Cassandra that Allie ever would be, and Luke sure as hell wouldn’t have given her up to Campbell, that lying, backstabbing, good for nothing _fuckhead_ \- had her hands placed desperately against the glass, palms open, as if Allie was some sort of long lost loved one trapped behind bars, and they were sharing a heartfelt discussion.

The blonde stopped for a minute, tilting her head to one side, before she responded, her tone quickly sobering- 

“Oh yeah? What are they gonna do,” she looked towards each side before leading towards Helena and lowering her voice- “kill me?” Allie cackled, throwing her head back and once again lost her balance. Struggling to not fall over, she slumped forward, before slowly raising her head. 

“Honestly Helena, weren’t you supposed to be smart?” Her voice was full of mirth, each word becoming more biting and harsh as her voice grew steadily deeper, her eyes full of mirth.  

“They’re not gonna fucking kill me. They don’t have the fucking balls. None of them were willing to make the calls about Dewey and they won’t about this either. They’re gonna leave me here, to rot, to go fucking crazy in some goddamn basement, drinking myself into oblivion.” She caught sight of herself in the reflection of the glass and - her eyes were wild, dripping in animalistic intensity, and... cold.

She had grown cold.

Walking backwards into the shelving, Allie slid down to the floor, grappling for another bottle as Helena opened and closed her mouth again, and again, and again, as if she didn’t know what to say. 

“Let them take me” the blonde girl finally whispered into the bottle. 

“Let them take me out into the woods and tie me to that chair and shoot me just like we did Dewey.”

She rolled to one side, staring blankly in front of her, weirdly reminiscent of how she spent the days after learning Cassandra had been killed.

“I don’t even care anymore.”

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry about the wait, I was in the shower (fun fact - that's what I tell the guys I talk to on tinder if it takes me a week to respond).  
> But really, I'm sorry. Summer was crazy busy, but hopefully now that I'm back in the swing of the school year, things will get better. Thanks for putting up with me, and I hope it was worth the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> I am obsessed with this show and these characters (they have taken over my life and if jack mulhern proposed to me tomorrow I would probably say yes) and I wanted to read this fic but it didn't exist so I wrote it for myself. thanks for taking the time to read it and I hope you enjoyed it!


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